


How Do I Love Thee

by zimriya



Series: 10 Things AU [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, Grantaire's POV of Let Me Count the Ways, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-15 02:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/844040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zimriya/pseuds/zimriya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cosette?” Grantaire tries to say. “Not to be rude, but why are you calling--”</p><p>“My brother is in love with you,” says Cosette before he can finish.</p><p>Grantaire has to sit down. “What was that?” he says, when he’s finished dragging a three legged stool over to sit on.</p><p>“Enjolras is in love with you,” Cosette says again.</p><p>Grantaire hangs up on her.</p><p>Grantaire's POV of Chapter 10 of LMCTW</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Do I Love Thee

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! It's Grantaire's POV. 
> 
> Betaed by the lovely [decourfeynated](http://decourfeynated.tumblr.com/) on tumblr. All other mistakes are my own.

**10\. I don’t know why.**

\--

Grantaire isn’t sure why, but when Cosette sends him the frankly adorable picture of Enjolras cuddling his laptop, the first thing he does is save her number. He calls her ‘Cosette,’ because Bahorel had given him enough grief already when he discovered that Enjolras was ‘Apollo’ in his phone; ‘Artemis,’ while actually somewhat clever, would have been pushing it. There’s probably a whole slew of reasons why this is both a stupid decision and a creepy one, but when Grantaire’s phone very politely interrupts what is most definitely not an Enjolras-induced-stress-painting session, it comes in handy.

 _Cosette_ , his phone tells him, when he manages to get up from where he practically had a heart attack  on the ground. (He is going to _kill_ Feuilly for changing his ringtone. And while Grantaire was having a crisis, too. Some friend.)

“Hello?”

“Hi, Grantaire?” comes what is definitely Cosette’s voice. “It’s Cosette.”

He waits a moment, cautiously, with the phone held to his ear. “Hi?” he tries. He puts his paint brush down and starts wiping at the smudges of paint lining his fingers--suddenly self conscious--until he becomes aware of what he’s doing and stops.

Cosette appears to be waiting for him to say something.

“Aren’t you at the match?” Grantaire manages, finally, only a few awkward seconds later.

“Nah,” says Cosette. “Papa wasn’t about to let me miss school so I could drive up with Enjolras and co. And I’m not actively participating this year, you know.”

Cosette sounds less than pleased about that; Grantaire remembers Eponine complaining about how the boys had pulled rank by virtue of the fact that they were all graduating, and smiles. “Oh, okay.”

“And of course, he wasn’t about to miss the pre-show hysterics,” Cosette continues, smoothly.

Right--Cosette and Enjolras’ father would want to go up with the rest of the team for moral support or whatever. Last time Grantaire had made it to a match, he’d seen the man across the courtroom standing to applaud for Enjolras.

“So no, I’m at home,” Cosette finishes. “Alone.”

“I’m sorry about that?” Grantaire tries to say. “Not to be rude, but why are you calling--”

“My brother is in love with you,” says Cosette before he can finish.

Grantaire has to sit down. “What was that?” he says, when he’s finished dragging a three legged stool over to sit on.

“Enjolras is in love with you,” Cosette says again.

Grantaire hangs up on her. She calls him back immediately, and he dials Eponine’s number with shaking hands even as his phone squawks at him.

“R?” says Eponine, when she picks up.

“Cosette says Enjolras is in love with me,” says Grantaire in a rush. “Help.”

Eponine takes a moment. “Where are you?” she says, finally.

Grantaire blinks. “The studio,” he says, giving the painting in front of him a better look. It’s not Enjolras, which he’s counting as a win, but it looks remarkably like his sister. “On second thought, don’t come here.”

“Who’d you paint?” Eponine asks, without a trace of judgment coloring her tone. This is why Grantaire loves her.

“Erm,” he says, tilting the canvas a bit. He decides not to answer her question; maybe she won’t notice. “I don’t think I properly stretched this. Actually, I don’t remember stretching this at all.”

“So which blond was it?” says Eponine.

“What?”

“You’re changing the subject. Which means it was either Enjolras, or someone Enjolras knows--from your too long pause, going to go with Cosette.”

“I hate you,” says Grantaire, but he’s grinning.

“You love me,” says Eponine. “Now, come on; I’m outside.”

Grantaire starts. “You’re what?”

“Outside,” repeats Eponine. “I’m supposed to get you to Cosette’s.”

Grantaire hangs up on her as well. A few moments later, there’s a knock on the studio door. “I am only knocking so that you can prepare yourself,” says Eponine. “That is, please do not be covered in paint when I grab you.”

Grantaire only has time to throw the paintbrush into the sink--someone is going to kill him tomorrow for that, no doubt--and drape his smock on his vacated chair before Eponine comes striding in.

“Did you come to school on that metal death trap?” she says, crossing the room and grabbing Grantaire by the arm.

“Hey,” he protests as she pulls him from the room. He manages grab the Enjolras’ sketchbook and to turn off the lights. “Don’t say that!”

“Right,” says Eponine, dragging him through the halls. “You named it.” She shakes her head. “What kind of name is Cl--”

“I will disown you,” says Grantaire, cheerfully. He crosses his arms, and lets Eponine steer him where she likes. Where she likes, turns out to be stopping in the middle of the hall abruptly to stare at him.

“What is that?” she says, pointing at the sketchbook.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Eponine starts walking again. “Did he give it to you?”

“Again, I don’t--”

“Know what I’m talking about,” Eponine finishes. “It’s okay. Bossuet was there when he bought it for you.”

“What?”

“I’m driving,” says Eponine.

Grantaire blinks. “What?” he says, again.

“Me,” says Eponine, actually _kicking_ _open the school doors_ and heading for Grantaire’s parking space. (He’s been calling that ever since, and parking there ever since, and no one’s mocking is changing that.) “Driving.” She grabs the helmet--Enjolras’ helmet, Grantaire’s treacherous brain informs him--and sticks it on her head. “You can hold onto my and pretend you’re not screaming.”

“Hold on,” says Grantaire, because does Eponine even _know_ how to ride a motorcycle, let alone drive one.

“Nope,” says Eponine. She pats her own leather jacket, and knee high black boots. “I came prepared.” She throws him his helmet. “Where did you get this one anyway?” she adds, tapping the one on her head and swinging a leg over the bike.

Grantaire swings his own leg over the bike. “I might have gone shopping,” he says, with as much dignity as he can manage while recalling the time spent awkwardly buying a second helmet before driving to Enjolras’ house.

Eponine turns on the gas flow valve, rolling her eyes, and turns the key. “If you think you’re getting away with not telling that story you’re wrong,” she says, over the roar of the engine.

Grantaire ignores her, lips twitching a little the whole while, as she goes through the paces and has them speeding off away from campus without so much as a stutter.

“Who taught you to ride?” he says, finally, when they reach a lull and a crosswalk.

“Who do you think?” says Eponine. She waits a moment. “You should have.”

“I would have,” says Grantaire.

“I fell a lot that first ride,” says Eponine.

“You’re mean,” says Grantaire, but he tightens his grip around her waist anyway. “I’d punch him if you like.”

Eponine laughs. “You wouldn’t stand a chance,” she says. “And he likes you well enough.”

“Montparnasse only likes me when he needs something,” says Grantaire, grudgingly. “Which isn’t all that surprising, actually.”

“Hey, no,” says Eponine, when the light changes and they start again. “None of that self-deprecating bull crap. Plenty of people like you for you.”

“Name a few,” says Grantaire.

“The entire mock trial team!” shouts Eponine over the roar of the engine. “Also, Enjolras!”

Grantaire purses his lips, and refuses to take the bait.

\--

“Enjolras is in love with you,” says Cosette, when she opens the door. Grantaire takes an automatic step backwards into Eponine, who grabs him by the shoulders and shoves.

“Dammit, Cosette,” she says, but she sounds like she’s laughing when the other girl grabs Grantaire’s forearms and helps her get him in the house.

“I hate both of you,” says Grantaire, sadly, when they’re finished manhandling him into one of the kitchen chairs. He puts his hands down on the table, and his head upon them, and sighs.

“Déjà vu,” says Cosette, shaking her head. “All the more reason for the two of you to get married and have perfect little painter-lawyer children.”

“What?” exclaims Grantaire, lifting his head, at the same time Eponine says, “I don’t think that’s how biology works, Cosette.”

Cosette feigns shock, but her lips are twitching. “Whoops,” she says.

Grantaire puts his head back down in his hands. “I _hate_ you,” he says. The sketchbook Enjolras gave him makes for an excellent pillow. “Leave me alone to die.”

“No can do,” says Cosette. She drags a chair around and sits down in front of him, taking his hands in her own and refusing to look away. “Enjolras is in lo--”

“Yes, okay, thank you!” says Grantaire, shrilly. “Can we move on, now!”

“Nope,” says Eponine. She plops down in the seat next to Cosette. “It has been two weeks since your little blow up in the hallway and you have moped for long enough.”

“I’m not moping,” says Grantaire, with dignity.

Eponine stares at him. Cosette lets go of his hands.

“Fine, yes, maybe I was moping a little,” Grantaire admits, still with dignity. “But I have moved past it.”

“Enjolras spent the better half of this morning debating tie choices,” says Cosette. She starts picking at her nails, which Grantaire is relatively certain is a front to make him antsy. It’s working. “He never debates anything wardrobe wise,” she goes on. “Also he’s done the dishes twice in a row unprompted. And yesterday, he took a twenty minute shower.”

“Okay,” says Grantaire, pretending very hard that he is not now picturing Enjolras in the shower. “I’m not seeing how this relates.”

“My point is he’s trying to keep himself busy.”

“He’s been doing it like crazy all week,” puts in Eponine. “I had to physically remove Courfeyrac from the Mock Trial meet the other day because he was this close to strangling Enjolras.”

Grantaire frowns. “Okay?” he repeats. “So he’s tense, I get that but still not getting why you’re telling _me_ this.”

Eponine and Cosette stare at him.

Grantaire stares back. He starts playing with the sketchbook, idly, and ends up flipping to the first page. In Enjolras’ surprisingly illegible script are the beginnings of probably his closing. He’s littered the page with comments, which grow increasingly shorter and angrier as they go along. One of them in particular catches Grantaire’ attention, and he leans in close to stare at it.

“You’re serious,” Cosette says finally, before he can read it properly. “He’s serious.” She pauses and Grantaire figures she’s exchanging a look with Eponine. “Again, marriage and perfectly oblivious lawyer-painter children.”

Grantaire isn’t sure why, but his cheeks are suddenly flaming and he looks up. “Shut up,” he says.

“Aw, you’re blushing,” says Cosette. “You’re adorable--I’m glad my brother is in love with you.”

Grantaire tries to push the chair back and leave the house, but all he ends up doing is knocking over the sketchbook. It hits the kitchen floor with a resounding thud, and all three of them stop to look at it.

“That’s the address to the court house,” says Cosette finally. “And that--”

Grantaire narrows his eyes at it, before the beginnings of his name become clear and he scrambles to pick it up. “Not important,” he says, and then pauses so that he can read it. _Grantaire_ , it says. _I know you don’t believe this, but it is entirely my fault. I didn’t mean what I said. I._ Grantaire can practically see the pause here, woven into the recyclable paper and the smudge of ink.

“Grantaire,” Eponine says, warningly.

“Shh,” Grantaire says, still reading.

 _I would really like it if you’d come to the Mock Trial Final. I find that I work better with you there_.

And if that isn’t just Enjolras all over: somehow both practical and confusing all at once. “I have no idea what this means,” he tells Cosette, thrusting the sketchbook at her. “He’s your sibling, translate.”

Cosette’s eyes dart over the page and she makes several considering noises. “Hmm,” she says. “I’m going to have to say it means ‘please come to the courtroom.’”

Grantaire tries to grab the sketchbook back from her with something of a scowl-flush staining his cheeks, but Eponine halts him and tugs it towards her.

“I’m getting the same thing,” she says. “I can safely say what we should do is go to the courthouse.”

Grantaire frowns. “No,” he says. “I refuse to do, that it won’t help.”

Eponine frowns right back at this. “Leave this to me,” she says to Cosette.

“Hey,” protests Grantaire.

“Okay,” says Cosette.

Eponine takes Grantaire’s hands again and forces him back into the chair. She takes her seat again, and stares him in the eyes. Cosette settles into her own chair to watch them with large, all-knowing, blue eyes. Grantaire very quickly looks away from her to meet Eponine’s gaze. “Grantaire,” says Eponine. “Listen to me very carefully.”

“If I do so will you let go of my hands?” says Grantaire. “Because that’s really all I want out of this conversation.”

“Hush,” says Eponine. “Don’t even pretend you don’t want Enjolras to love you.”

Grantaire hisses and tries to take his hands back. “Would the two of your stop saying that?” he snaps.

“Why?” says Eponine. “Does it make you go all gooey inside?”

“No,” replies Grantaire. “Why would it do that?” His insides, sadly, are still feeling a little fluttery.

“Uhuh,” says Cosette. “You’re about as convincing as Enjolras. Did you know he spent the entirety of the morning after lamenting your hatred of him?”

“The morning after?” repeats Grantaire.

“The morning after,” agrees Eponine. “That’s what we refer to the day after you and Enjolras managed to have a very real break up for a very fake relationship.”

“That was real,” points out Cosette. “Do not say otherwise I will smack you.”

Grantaire’s jaw snaps shut. “I wasn’t going to say anything,” he tells her sulkily.

Eponine rolls her eyes and Cosette narrows hers. “You are about as convincing as my brother,” she says. “And I couldn’t smack him because he was still delicate over you. Do not test me.”

Grantaire gives her a considering look. “You’re kind of terrifying,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind you for a sister-in-law.”

His sentences takes no more than a few seconds to set in.

“Oh I knew I liked you,” says Cosette. “Lawyer-painter babies.”

“Sister-in-law,” prompts Eponine. “Why, R. I never took you for the propose-to-your-fake-ex’s-sister type.”

“Oh lord,” Grantaire moans. “I didn’t say anything, leave me to die.”

“But really,” Eponine continues. She lets go of Grantaire’s hands and strokes his hair. “He does like you. A lot.”

Grantaire purses his lips. “If you say so,” he says, uncertainly, but his eyes dart back to the sketchbook.

Cosette flips back to the front and finds Enjolras’ closing notes. “Hey,” she says. “Didn’t Combeferre make this exact argument the other day?”

Eponine leans over. “Yeah,” she says. “And then Enjolras stormed out.”

Cosette laughs. “Not before he almost called him--” She breaks off and stares at Grantaire.

Grantaire stares back. “What?” He looks over at Eponine, who doesn’t blink.

“Grantaire,” says Eponine, slowly. “We’re going to that court room and you will hear what Enjolras wants you to hear.”

He tries smiling at her, which doesn’t help, before sighing. “Yeah, okay,” he says.

“Yes!” Eponine leaps to her feet. “Who’s driving?”

Cosette opens her mouth, and then shuts it. “Um,” she says. “Who has a car?”

Grantaire and Eponine turn identical looks on each other.

“My parents needed it,” says Grantaire.

“I don’t have my own,” says Eponine.

“We are fucked,” says Cosette.

Grantaire, for once, actually agrees with her.

\--

“I don’t actually need to go listen to Enjolras,” says Grantaire, minutes later, when Cosette has abandoned him and Eponine inside her house to do God knows what. “I’ll just talk to him after.”

Eponine doesn’t pause from where she’s been springing rubber bands at him. “Why are you still talking about this?” she asks. She releases her latest band and it hits Grantaire in the forehead. “Stop talking about it.”

Grantaire reaches out to grab a rubber band and shoots it back at her. “You don’t believe me,” he accuses.

Eponine ducks the rubber band sent her way and gets another hit to his upper arm, this time. “No,” she agrees. “You’ll just continue moping and Enjolras will let it go. He’s making the first move, R. You’re not getting another one of those--I have never met anyone more stubborn.”

Cosette opens the door with a flourish and says, breathlessly. “Come on I found us a ride.” She waits a bit, before running up the stairs and returning with clothes, which she flings at the two of them.

Grantaire blinks, but gets his arms out to catch the button down shirt, dress pants, and a tie.

Eponine hits him in the chest with a rubber band. “Care to share with the class?” She gives the skirt, tights, and blouse a once over.

Cosette heaves out panting breaths. “Javert has a car,” she says, pulling of her jeans and shoving her own legs into tights. “And he’s home, now.”

Grantaire makes a wounded noised and turns away. “How do you know this?”

“The curtains,” says Cosette, waving a hand. “It’s not important--put those on!” Her voice is just a shade desperate enough that Grantaire hurries to acquiesce--the pants are just a bit too long and tight in all the wrong places (they are also probably Enjolras’, but Grantaire is not thinking about that) and he ends up half assing the  tie, but he and Eponine both end up looking moderately well dressed as they high tail it across the lawn.

Grantaire still has the sketchbook clutched in his hands and. Eponine is complaining about how Cosette’s heels don’t fit her.

Cosette ignores them both. “He has some sort of grudge against Papa,” she explains. “So let me do all the talking.”

“I had not planned on doing any of the talking,” says Eponine.

“Me neither,” Grantaire is quick to interject.

Cosette just shakes her head at the two of them. “He doesn’t bite, honestly,” she says. “He seems nice.”

“Nice,” repeats Eponine.

“I thought you said he has a grudge against your father?” adds Grantaire.

Cosette waves a hand. “It’s probably a misunderstanding,” she says. “Or something from his past. Maybe he knows Papa from prison, since he’s an inspector. Regardless, Papa’s free, now. He should let it be.”

Grantaire swallows heavily. “Wait, so, your dad actually was in prison?” he asks, eventually.

Cosette stops walking for a moment. “What, did you think he was lying, earlier?”

Grantaire considers lying to her. “Yes?” he says finally, voice raising a bit.

Cosette starts walking again and makes a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat. “Oh,” she says, and nothing else.

Grantaire makes the executive decision not to say anything until they are in the car.

This turns out to be a very wise choice.

Cosette first knocks on Javert’s door, then bangs on Javert’s door, and then finally shoves her foot into the doorframe before he can shut it on her face. She then proceeds to destroy every argument he attempts to make with regards to her father with terrifying efficiency, and has somehow managed to not only procure his car but has also convinced him to drive them to the courthouse.

Grantaire is left slightly dizzy and more than a little in awe. He turns to Eponine, sitting equally slack jawed in the back seat of Javert’s car, and says, “I don’t think Marius knows what he’s getting into.”

Eponine punches him in the arm. “You are one to talk,” she says. “They day Cosette invited me over for the first time I got to watch first hand as Enjolras managed to reduce my father to shaky two word answers. I do not know how he did it and I do not want to know how he did it, but he is terrifying.”

Grantaire pretends he’s not affected by that.

“If you think you’re kidding anyone you need to stop,” says Eponine.

In the front seat, Cosette and Javert appear to be having a civil conversation about what it means to break the law, truly, and when it is okay to do so. Grantaire wouldn’t want to pick sides, but he’s going to say Cosette is winning.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he tells Eponine.

“Yeah, uhuh,” Eponine replies. “Work on that if you’re going to try to lie to Enjolras.”

Grantaire scowls, and mumbles under his breath, “What makes you think I’m even going to talk to Enjolras.”

“What was that?” says Eponine. “Excuse me, Cosette?”

Cosette pauses mid sentence to look back at her. “Yes?”

“Grantaire is refusing to talk to Enjolras.”

Cosette narrows her eyes. “Does Grantaire want to say that again?” she says.

“No,” says Grantaire after a short, terror filled pause. “No, I’m good.”

“Awesome,” says Cosette. “Because he’s in love with you, and I refuse to let you hurt him.”

“Technically Enjolras has been doing all of the hurting,” says Eponine.

Cosette waves a hand at her. “I know,” she says. “But he’s going to apologize for that.”

Grantaire doesn’t try to point out that Enjolras really has nothing to apologize for since he was the one who agreed to the fake dating first, who started kissing, first, who let whatever the hell the phone thing was happen.

“Oh, you’re making that face,” says Eponine. “Cosette he’s making that face.”

Cosette looks back at him, and then turns to Javert. “Do you mind hurrying, a bit?” she asks sweetly. “We’re in a bit of a rush.”

Javert frowns, mutters something about the speed limit, but accelerates after only a moment’s pause. “Are you discussing that brother of yours?” he says to Cosette.

“Yes, why?”

“If you think for a second what that boy feels for you is platonic,” Javert continues, glancing briefly at Grantaire’s reflection in the rear view mirror. “You’re wrong.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” says Grantaire, before his heart start thumping loudly in his ears and he spends the next few minutes trying not to bite through his bottom lip.

\--

Enjolras is divine in a suit. Grantaire knew, of course, because he’d seen the top of it earlier, but that does not compare to this. Enjolras, standing to his full height, hair falling slightly in his eyes, with a splash of sea-green around his neck and a pen in his hand, is something to take Grantaire’s breath away.

He looks up when they enter, head swinging around so that it feels like he’s staring into Grantaire’s very soul. It’s a good thing that Eponine and Cosette are there to manhandle him to a bench, because he’s not sure he could do it himself. Then, of course, Enjolras gets up and is actually talking, and he loses track of much of anything.

There is a short break before the closings, and Grantaire takes that moment to very slowly let out all the air in his lungs. “This is a bad idea,” he hisses to Eponine.

Cosette has gotten up and is speaking with Enjolras and the rest of the team in hushed tones. Grantaire thinks he hears his nickname and looks up. Bahorel smiles back at him, and he shakes his head before turning back to Eponine.

She pats him on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine,” she says. “Trial will end and then you guys can talk.”

“I still think this is going to end terribly,” says Grantaire sulkily, as the judge comes back into the room and calls for closings.

Eponine shushes him, and they both turn to watch the defense give their closing. Grantaire knows enough from listening to Enjolras rant at Combeferre at meanings to see where the ideologies being presented here match up to Enjolras’ own. He also knows enough to see where Enjolras would be able to knock their arguments down without so much as a second thought. Obviously, they’re going to win.

So when Enjolras looks at him before the rebuttal, eyes more than a little terrified, he manages to smile at him. It doesn’t feel like it’s quite reaching all of his face, and it tugs at something in his chest, but Enjolras’ mouth seems to settle into a decisive line as he gets to his feet.

“May it please the court,” says Enjolras, voice carrying.

Grantaire tries not to shiver at the tone he is taking.

“I,” continues Enjolras, with a brief pause, before sighing. He goes into his closing, the one that Grantaire first saw him practicing in the Café Musain ready to tear out his hair. He is breathtaking. The entire room feels like it’s holding their breath, and even though Grantaire knows that Enjolras disagrees with every point he makes, he sells it. It is glorious, it is spectacular, and it makes Grantaire’s cheeks hurt for how hard he’s grinning.

At the end, Enjolras seems to falter a little, and his eyes find Grantiare’s. Grantaire smiles again at him, and this time it is genuine.

“That was my ending, actually,” says Enjolras, without looking away from Grantaire for a moment. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to take this moment to a say few things more.”

Grantaire finds that he can’t look away from Enjolras’ eyes, which are very blue.

“I, um,” says Enjolras, turning back to the judge very briefly, before turning to Combeferre and Courfeyrac sitting at the table. “A while back my sister decided to fall in love. And my father, of course, decided that she wasn’t ready.” He pauses, and smiles at the people staring at him. “But she’s my sister,” he says. “And she refused to let his word be law. So he said she could date if I did.”

Grantaire’s heart is suddenly beating so fast he’s worried about his health, and Eponine looks less than pleased with how tight he’s gripping her hand. He can’t really get his body to behave long enough to stop, though.

“Anyway, long story short,” says Enjolras. “I agreed to date someone so she could, and ended up asking out the perfect guy.” There’s a beat. “Well,” continues Enjolras. “Near perfect. We disagree about everything. And we fight--” He breaks off. “ _Are_  fighting, right now, and that’s entirely my fault so if you all wouldn’t mind?”

The room seems to collectively shake their heads and the judge is very kindly silent.

Enjolras clears his throat. “Grantaire,” he says, addressing Grantaire and staring him straight in the eye. Eponine shoves him upright so that everyone else can do so as well and Grantaire stops breathing. Enjolras is smiling at him. He says something about wise friends and romantic gestures, but Grantaire can’t quite keep track of what it is exactly.

Courfeyrac sticks a fist in the air as if to say, “that was me, I’m the friend.”

“So, um,” says Enjolras. “This is something I wrote for you.” He clears his throat, and starts talking.

About how he hates Grantaire, how he surprises him, how he’s late, the books he reads, the arguments they had and the way he never leaves Enjolras. Courfeyrac puts his head in his hands somewhere around the first “I hate you,” but Grantaire can barely look away from Enjolras’ eyes at the beginning, let alone when he gets to the part about not really hating him much at all.

“Um,” says Enjolras after a beat. “Thank you.”

He sits back down.

The judge swipes frantically at her eyes, and sounds a bit broken up when she tells them that no matter how heartwarming and sweet that was, she cannot let them win because of it. Enjolras hasn’t once looked away from Grantaire, and doesn’t seem too shaken up about it.

He catches him outside the courtroom, to grab him by the hand and pull him very, very close. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Grantaire says back.

“You came.”

“Yeah.”

They stare at each other awkwardly, for a bit, before Grantaire starts giggling.

“Why are you laughing?” says Enjolras, sounding confused and that only makes Grantaire laugh the harder. “Stop that, it’s not--” Enjolras flushes. “It’s not funny.”

“No,” says Grantaire, but giddily because he is still somewhat riding the rush of knowing that Enjolras cares. “Sorry, I’ll stop.”

“No, I,” says Enjolras. “I like it when you laugh.”

Grantaire stares at him, heart beating away like a mess in his chest, and cannot stop the bubble of laughter.

Enjolras solves the problem for him, eyes dancing, by leaning in to kiss him.

They keep kissing, and laughing, until Enjolras is dragging him by his wrist onto the bus, where they don’t stop any of it. Grantaire is on cloud nine, and he doesn’t even care how cliché that sounds.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://www.zimriya.tumblr.com)!


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